The Third Ecclesiast jerked onto her toes as if someone had grabbed her hair and pulled straight up. Deep within the murk of her eyes, glints of green light shone, dimming and fading and then brightening again until the smoke burned away. “I am your God!” the dark voice said, sounding less resonant and farther away. “You will worship—”
The voice cut off sharply. The Third Ecclesiast’s body arched like a bow, and a hiss of pain emerged from her clenched teeth. Rokshan stepped back. The Archprelate took the opportunity to move into the space where he had been, taking the Third Ecclesiast’s other wrist and holding her as if tethering her to the ground. Though he said nothing, his eyes were still the same vivid green as hers now were.
The Third Ecclesiast threw her head back and opened her mouth. “That which comes cannot be stopped,” she said, and this time her voice was the ringing music of the real Jiwanyil. “Fear nothing except the enemy you do not know. God and man, dragon and God, no one is to say where truth lies, or where lies are truth. Ward against the voice in darkness. The skies will burn.”
Lamprophyre realized she was holding her breath and let it out slowly. Rokshan, beside her, stood as still and tense as if he were the one possessed of a prophecy. The Archprelate continued to hold the Third Ecclesiast’s wrists, his head tilted to look at her; Lamprophyre hadn’t understood how short he was until she saw him next to the Third Ecclesiast, who was a tiny woman and only barely shorter than he. She reached out to free the Third Ecclesiast from his grip, and he twitched the woman out of Lamprophyre’s reach. “Don’t,” he said in a normal if very elderly voice. “It’s not over.”
The Third Ecclesiast jerked and fell to her knees. Then she was thrashing madly, held upright only by the Archprelate’s hands. Blood trickled from her nose and the corners of her eyes, foam bubbled from her lips, and her head moved so rapidly Lamprophyre could hear her joints popping. Through it all, the Archprelate held firm, anchoring the woman so she couldn’t fall and hit her head against the hard earth of the courtyard.
Eventually, the Third Ecclesiast’s seizure passed, and she hung limp in the Archprelate’s grasp. He gently lowered her to the ground and stood over her, looking down as intently as if he understood who she was and what had happened to her. Lamprophyre bent to arrange her in a more comfortable position, and froze. “No,” she said, leaning closer to rest her cheek near the woman’s mouth, which lay slack in death. “I don’t understand. Why—”
“The thing that possessed her altered her brain,” the Archprelate said, “made it incompatible with true prophecy. I don’t know why Jiwanyil didn’t act sooner, but there is much I do not understand about divinity.”
Lamprophyre stared at him. “You…aren’t you—”
“Mad?” The Archprelate turned to look up at her. “I am, or will be again.” He held out a hand to let a few raindrops spatter his palm. “What terrible timing the heavens have.”
Lamprophyre became aware of the murmuring crowds beginning to press forward. She couldn’t tell from their agitated thoughts what they believed had just happened, but even if all they thought was that two ecclesiasts had been possessed of prophecies at the same time, and that one of them had been overtaken by it, that was enough to overwhelm the embassy. “Please stand back,” she said, walking toward the center of the courtyard. “Rokshan, would you—”
“Already thought of it,” Rokshan said. He had the Third Ecclesiast’s body in his arms and was moving through the muscular men toward the litter. All of them had turned to watch him. They weren’t as stolid as Lamprophyre had thought. Lamprophyre walked around the courtyard, saying things she barely remembered speaking, her whole mind focused on the Archprelate, who stood by the soup cauldron with no apparent concern for the rain now falling on him.
“Go home—the Third Ecclesiast needs rest—the ecclesiasts will explain everything tomorrow—really, just go home,” she said, and with those words and some well-timed flaps of her enormous wings, she got the courtyard cleared of everything but the litter and the Third Ecclesiast’s entourage. The bearers and the other men had gathered together in a huddle, alternating glances at the litter whose silken draperies were spattered dark red with rain with glances at Rokshan and Lamprophyre. One of the men moved as if to lift the curtain, and another slapped the first man’s hand away.
“We can’t send them back,” she told Rokshan when she returned to his side. “A litter shows up with a dead Third Ecclesiast, and who knows what they’ll think?”
“She can wait,” Rokshan said. “I have questions.”
They turned to face the Archprelate, who smiled sadly at them and turned to enter the pavilion. Following him, Lamprophyre settled on the stone floor and tucked her tail around herself. Outside, the rain continued to patter lightly, and she glanced over her shoulder at the bearers in their huddle, who seemed not to notice or care about the weather. Well, they hadn’t noticed the Third Ecclesiast was dead, because they were unlikely to remain so calm if they had. Maybe that sort of unobservant behavior was something the ecclesiasts looked for in bearers. The rain wasn’t falling heavily, and Lamprophyre found she didn’t much care if the men got wet.
“I don’t believe I have much time,” the Archprelate said, drawing her attention. “But I remember how kind you were, and I saw your faith, and I think that’s deserving of answers.”
“You weren’t pretending to be mad, were you?” Rokshan said.
“Unfortunately, no. When I knew a great danger was coming, I pleaded with Jiwanyil to spare my life until it had passed, so I would not leave my people unprotected from it. In his grace, he chose to grant my request, but he apparently believed I would be capable of acting even if my mind was gone.” The Archprelate closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. “I can feel the fog coming on again, so I need you to listen and not interrupt.”
“But—” Lamprophyre began. Rokshan shushed her.
“Months ago, I had a terrible dream,” the Archprelate said. “A voice spoke to me, claiming to be Jiwanyil. It said my worthiness allowed it to speak to me directly, with no need for the obscurity of prophecy. It told me many flattering things and assured me I was destined for greatness. When I woke, I realized it was no dream.
“My mind was already going by then, and I believed the ‘dream’ to be just another manifestation of madness. But a second, similar dream convinced me it was an entity speaking to me, and—well, I have been an ecclesiast most of my life, and I know Jiwanyil’s voice. This was not Jiwanyil. When it spoke to me again, I fought back. It told me if I resisted, it would raise up another Archprelate in my place. Fearing for my life and in the grip of delirium, I fled the Archprelate’s palace.
“Since then, I have roamed the city in a fog, only coming briefly to myself on some occasions when I was possessed of a prophecy. I do not know what led me to this place—probably it was just hunger. But this evening, the first prophecy I spoke left me aware that here was where I needed to be. And I returned. You know the rest.”
“So Ayusha was the entity’s second target,” Rokshan said. “Do you think she would have killed you?”
“Almost certainly,” the Archprelate said. He swayed and sank to his knees in one sudden movement, but waved Rokshan off when he moved closer to help. “No, I’m well, or at least as well as I can be. Ayusha has always been determined and ambitious. I don’t know if the entity put the idea of becoming Archprelate into her head, or if it was something she aspired to despite the impossibility of controlling Jiwanyil’s choice, but I suppose it hardly matters now.” He put a hand to his head. “Questions, now, while I can still answer.”
“You said you saw our faith. What faith?” Lamprophyre asked.
The Archprelate tilted his head to regard her closely. “You called upon a God not your own to break the entity’s hold on Ayusha. Why?”
Taken aback, Lamprophyre said, “I don’t know. It was the prophecy that told me what needed to happen. I’m sorry if that was presumptuous.”
“Not presumptuous. You spoke as one with the certainty of faith, and God responded. I honor that.”
“But I don’t worship Jiwanyil.”
“I’ve found, in my long life, that Gods care more that their instructions are heeded than that people mouth platitudes in their direction,” the Archprelate said wryly. “Don’t worry. Jiwanyil knows your heart, and I’m sure your Mother Stone does too.”
Lamprophyre still felt uncomfortable with the idea of her faith being enlisted in the cause of a religion not her own, and cast about for a change of subject. “Why are you sane now?”
The Archprelate nodded slowly, as if he knew what she’d done. “As I said, I have moments of clarity, and I think the power of that last prophecy left me clear for longer than usual.” He grimaced. “Or possibly Jiwanyil wants you to know the truth, since no one else does. It will be up to you to decide who to share it with. Though I believe you could do worse than confide in Khadar. The boy is more faithful than he realizes, though I wish he would abjure whorehouses. It’s so undignified.”
“So, what was that entity?” Rokshan asked.
“That, I don’t know. Something very old and very evil. Something that intends to bring about our destruction if it can. There are prophecies referring to the skies burning that I believe have something to do with it.”
“We know some of those prophecies,” Lamprophyre said. “We know they speak of a calamity like the Great Cataclysm so many hundreds of years ago.”
The Archprelate looked at her without comprehension for a moment, then shook his head as if clearing away fog. “Calamity. Yes. We are almost certainly facing something as terrible.” He pressed a hand to his head, and fear flickered in his eyes. “What else? Oh. I believe the entity wanted dragons out of Gonjiri because dragons and humans working together, fighting together, spells disaster for its plans. Don’t let anyone drive you out, dragon…God’s breath, I can’t remember your name. I can’t—”
“It’s all right,” Lamprophyre said. “You’ll correct the prophecy.”
He looked up at her, his face stricken. “I can’t,” he said. “My memories…I feel them dissolving. I’m going—I can’t stop it.”
“What do we do?” Lamprophyre said. “Can’t we—Rokshan, Jiwanyil can’t want this!”
Rokshan knelt beside the Archprelate, looking as torn as she felt. “I don’t know, Lamprophyre. But—”
The Archprelate grabbed Lamprophyre’s arm, groping as if he were blind. “Everything’s fading,” he cried out, sounding terrified. “My mind—dear God help me, I can’t bear losing myself again!”
Impulsively, Lamprophyre put her arm around the Archprelate and held him close. “Don’t be afraid,” she said. “We’ll remember for you. You’ll be safe, I promise.”
The Archprelate closed his eyes and nodded, shuddering and then growing calm. His breathing steadied. “I’m ready,” he said, and bowed his head.
Lamprophyre didn’t move. Rokshan knelt beside them both, his eyes fixed on the Archprelate. She heard movement from the kitchen as Depik and Bhakriya emerged, hand in hand, but with their attention on Lamprophyre in a way that suggested they didn’t realize they were touching. “Most Holy One?” Lamprophyre whispered.
The Archprelate looked up at her and smiled. His vacant gaze struck her to the heart.
“Is that—?” Depik asked, his voice low and uncertain.
“It is,” Rokshan said, “but I think you had both better forget what you saw. If Jiwanyil loves him, he will take this old man back to him soon.” He rose and extended a hand to help the Archprelate to his feet. “I’ll go back with Ayusha,” he said. “Do you think you can fly with him? I know it’s uncomfortable to fly with anyone but me.”
Lamprophyre regarded the old man, who looked about him as if he’d never seen the dining pavilion before. “It will be an honor,” she said.